On the 20th, my coworker came to pick me up in the middle of SNOWPOCALYPSE’08 to make the trek up to Marysville for the company winter party. Our budget for next year’s party got slashed by corporate, so we decided to go out with a bang this year and live it up at the new Tulalip Resort & Spa. Most of us also elected to get rooms so we could not only stay out later, but not have to drive after inevitably drinking too much.
When I checked in, the front desk staffer apologized and said that the highest floor she could get me was the 9th floor. OH NO. Nine out of twelve was the best she could do? Remember: This is Marysville, not downtown Seattle. You’re not overlooking anything but the highway…but I suppose not being on a higher floor, we were denied the opportunity to look out over the nearby Wal-Mart.
Which is not to detract from the hotel at all, because the rooms were really very nice. The beds in particular were a whole new world of comfortable, and I fully intend to move out of my apartment and into one of their showers. You wouldn’t understand.
And look: There’s the highway!
Shortly after I checked in and quit gawping around the room like a hillbilly, Carrie arrived and we began primping for the dinner portion of the evening.
Here is yet another photograph of me, but this time, in a whole new bathroom mirror. You must be thrilled.
Dinner was delicious, and a sure step up from last year at Bucca Di Beppo’s (which was served ‘family style’–for 2.5k, we had to split each piece of cheesecake six ways. WHAT.). A good number of my coworkers braved the SNOWPOCALYPSE, one even driving from as far away as Portland, but enough skipped that instead of two drinks with dinner, we each had four or five. We also ended up grabbing boxes of leftovers from the buffet, and after four or five drinks, I thought it was a good idea to get one completely loaded with nothing but mashed potatoes and a couple of rolls. I think my general idea was to stay in the potato/starch family, and at one point, Carrie and I got so giggly about potatoes, everyone else in the room surely thought we were six sheets to the wind.
After dinner, we met downstairs, and headed toward the club with live entertainment. An elderly woman was sitting at the door, carding people, and when Carrie handed her her ID, the woman stared. And stared. And stared. Just when I was about to make a joke about having to sneak her underage ass into another bar, the woman handed it back and bluntly stated “I can’t allow you inside. This ID is expired.”
Sure enough, it had expired on her birthday a couple of weeks prior, but that didn’t stop us. We just went over to the OTHER lounge, the one with the guy working the door who was too busy looking at boobs to bother to check expiration dates. My boss’ boss pulled out his credit card, started a tab, and we all began drinking furiously, sprawled on comfy chairs.
The odd thing was, we all kept drinking, but no one really got drunk. Sure, I would never have gotten behind the wheel of a car by the time I got to drink number nine, but at no point did I feel that I’d lost motor control. However, after a certain point, we all decided to head back to the other lounge and just waltz past whatever old lady happened to be checking IDs so we could engage in something far more entertaining than watching music videos. That something? Watching white people dance.
This guy made me laugh SO HARD. It was clear from his attitude that he’d worn his GOOD tank top to the club, the one with the guns crossed on the back, which also showed off HIS guns. It’s important to show off your guns when you’re flapping your arms about like a chicken, which is a tip this next guy should keep in mind:
After a while, even President Wonka got down on the dance floor and danced like a woman, but I’m saving that video for when it’s time to negotiate my raise. After dancing, he then snuck into the VIP section, which really had no discernable additional awesomeness besides the handwritten sign that announced the VIP status of the person within the velvet ropes.
We stuck around until last call, and then headed back toward the room–we ended up getting into the elevator with a couple of guys who noticed either (take your pick)(A)how amazingly attractive we were or (B)how amazingly drunk we were, and they started to brag about how they were alllllll the way up on the 12th floor, in the player’s room–how they had a pool table right in the room, and a golden tee, and would we like to check it out?
YES WE WOULD.
We followed these guys up to the player’s room, and one hell of a party was going on inside. These guys said it was a company party for ‘financial advisors’, and after a few seconds, Carrie leaned over and whispered that she really wouldn’t trust ANY of these people with her money. We drank our beer, giggled over the fact that you could see the Wal-Mart from the window, and stood in a corner and mocked most everyone in passing. A girl with an unfortunate hairdo wearing a leopard-print dress bellowed “I WANT CHAMPAGNE”. Another girl, with skin like a handbag, the world’s most jacked teeth, and whom I’m pretty sure was wearing nothing under her red velvet dress (to the dismay of all), loudly disclosed to us that the guy who invited us upstairs “didn’t think I could kick, didn’t think I could kick him (hic)IN HIS PENIS” and then ran over behind the bar and licked out the dregs of the ketel one jug. People either walked by and made a ‘who the fuck are you’ face or they bared their drunken souls to us. Either way, after a while we’d had enough of watching complete strangers make asses of themselves, went back to our room, and scooped up cold potatoes with rolls. Our new Marco Polo call is “I WANT CHAMPAGNE!” “I’M GOING TO KICK HIM IN THE PENIS!”
The next morning, we awoke, hangover-free, ate far too much bacon, ran into some people who were at the party the night before, who snorted when we inquired about what sort of financial advising they do and informed us it was a BILL COLLECTOR’S PARTY (which makes SO MUCH MORE SENSE) and won some money on the only remaining ‘Alien’ slot machines in the state (perhaps in the country!)
And then, I went home and got trapped in my apartment for a solid week in the snow. Had I known I was going to be stuck at home so long, I would not have stopped drinking, and attempted a full-scale bender.
You are giving much hotness, girlie! Also, I can’t see any of the videos. *pout*
I dunno why you can’t see the videos, the youtube settings show them as public. :\
No clue. What’s your YouTube name, and I’ll try accessing them directly.
Mellzah
ROWR HOT MELLZAH WOOOOOOOO.
Also, just how the fuck can an ID to determine age “expire”? The expiration date on a driver’s license means you don’t have permission to drive a car anymore, but it doesn’t magically make you several years YOUNGER. Seriously what the hell.
cheers,
Phil
I dunno, it seems arbitrarily decided by the establishment. For example, my roommate got a DUI and her driver’s license got punched, which invalidates it as driving ID but should still be valid for age ID–some gas stations won’t sell her cigarettes. Most liquor stores will not sell her alcohol. We’ve had to get re-seated at restaurants. It’s kind of ridiculous.
As far as I know, it has to do with WA state liquor laws requiring you to present a valid ID. An expired ID isn’t valid, ergo, they’re not supposed to accept it. WA has some of the toughest liquor laws in the country. Go us!
It’s so odd to me, because the state is very socially liberal…but liquor? NOT ON SUNDAY, YOU HEATHEN. Cigarettes? GET TWENTY-FIVE FEET AWAY FROM DOORS, YOU CANCEROUS LEPER. Fast food/chain restaurants? LOOK HOW MANY CALORIES YOU’RE EATING–SHAME. SHAAAAAAAAAAME.
I don’t get you, Washington State.
You can now buy liquor on Sundays now at selected state stores, some of which are actually more like kiosks located within other, non-state-owned stores. And you can always buy booze in a bar or restaurant on Sunday. Silly, yes.
I don’t think 25 feet is enough, frankly, and I wish it could be enforced far better than it is.
Are fast food joints now listing “nutritional” content? I wouldn’t have noticed, as I literally cannot remember the last time I ate fast food. Yuck. I don’t see anything wrong with that, either, considering packaged food has to have that stuff listed. I see those iniatives more aimed at the utter crap that fast food is slinging at the public, who unknowingly ingest shit that is so full of nothing good. Have you read Fast Food Nation? It’ll scare the bejesus outta you and turn you off fast food for life, I tell ya.
I want to be able to buy liquor from any store that wants to sell liquor. I want to able to buy whatever kind of booze I want, not just what the state decides to stock.
I don’t think it’s right that the state decided they could choose for business owners about what clientele they would cater to; I don’t think it’s right to expect smokers to stand out in the freezing rain for four months of the year because even putting a tarp over their heads is technically illegal. Smokers are participating in a legal activity that’s now illegal almost everywhere. It’s like an insidious form of prohibition.
King County recently passed a thing (yes, technical, I know) that (1)bans trans fats in food and (2)requires all chain restaurants to post calorie, fat, and sodium content on their boards or in their menus if it’s a sit-down restaurant. I avoid fast food, but I’m sitting down with my friends at a maybe bi-annual Red Robin dinner, I really don’t like the feeling that big daddy king county is looking over my shoulder and trying to make me feel guilty for having a treat. Fuck. That. I take personal responsibility for my health, and I don’t want or need government to be involved.
I agree, and I always get so envious of states that have non-state liquor sales. It’s like, whoa, you can buy WHISKEY at Safeway? Drive-thru liquor stores??? Hell, in Louisiana, they got drive-thru take-out bars! Sign me up!
Enh, you’ll have to forgive me if I won’t play the world’s tiniest violin and can’t muster up any sympathy for people who are so stupid as to smoke, and certainly nobody’s forcing them to do it. If they don’t want to stand outside, they don’t have to. Indoor smoking bans help protect workers, not just patrons. It’s analogous to people who get upset because they get reprimanded for viewing non-work-appropriate web content on company computers. Duh, do that surfing on your own time at home, problem solved!
If you feel shame for eating anything, or you think you’re supposed to, that’s on you, and nobody else. Nobody makes you feel anything. Nutrition information has no moral value because food has no moral value. There is no “good” or “bad” food, only food that has varying degrees of healthfulness. I think the info on trans fats is especially good, given the negatives associated with them.
whoa, girl. you are looking all sorts of hot in that outfit. you got a boyfriend? *lol* <3
😛 Creepy.
haha. just foolin. thats what happens when i haven’t slept in almost THREE DAYS *cries of frustration*.
<3
You are so freaking adorable in that first picture. If I were at a party with my co-workers, drinking heavily to forget that somehow my life got off-track to the point where I’m now a freaking BILL COLLECTOR, I’d totally veer your way to bare my drunken soul. Your way and no other!
Aww, thanks!
It would have been funnier if they were ‘Sanitation Engineers’
You mean you pick up garbage on the street?
That white guy looks a little like my dad, although I think he’s more partial to the circle with 2 fists dance.
Which white guy? The one in the guns shirt?!?
Yes, although while I can’t see his face he also kinda looks like my aunt’s boyfriend
Your new mission, if you choose to accept it, is to get your family together and video record them dancing.
LOL..I was just going to leave a comment to say “Hey, you are such little hotty!” But I guess Hallways beat me to it.
Aww, thanks Gen! <3